Behind Every Good Man
by Lala to the power of 2
Summary: An illness threatens Roy Mustang's life, and the only cure may come at too heavy a price to bear. Especially when the side-effects ripple out to effect those around him as well. Serious genderswtich challenge, focusing on the gravity of the idea.
1. Prologue: Infection

AN: Response to a challenge laid out by one of my friends. The scientist in me couldn't refuse, and the result is a multi-chapter drama dealing with sexuality, politics, transsexuals, sexism, medicine, identity crises, and military hierarchy. Since only racism is covered by the actual series, I ended up dealing with other forms of discrimination. Yaaay.

So much for a simple genderswitch challenge.

* * *

It had finally come to the point where it couldn't be ignored. Where Mustang's subordinates could no longer pretend that nothing was wrong, or that the Major General was just suffering from a spring cold. The point where there was simply no denying that something was seriously wrong.

Because as much as they could ignore, Mustang throwing up blood into the wastebasket by his desk and then passing out face first in his paperwork was not something to be taken lightly.

He woke up in the hospital, with a grim-faced nurse hovering over him. She blinked in surprise when he opened his eyes, before stepping away from the bed.

"I'll call your doctor. Please stay still until someone can join you, sir." She said, stepping out of the room.

Roy stared up at the ceiling- a familiar sight by now. A hospital bed, the white painted walls of a sterile room staring silently at him. It was almost surreal every time- the last thing he remembers being intense pain, followed by the numb white of hospitalization. Although this time he had been shot or stabbed or burned- this time his own body had betrayed and attacked him.

He gave a weak laugh at the thought. There were so few people he could trust- and now even his own body was against him.

The doctor came in- a bored-looking man with scar cross his face. He approached the bed, glancing quickly at a clipboard. "Good morning, Major General Mustang. I'm Dr. Stein, and I've been the one treating you during your stay. Are you lucid?"

Roy blinked wearily, but nodded. "Yeah. Whatever you've got me on isn't as strong as what they use in the field, so I'm fine. How long was I out?"

"Only about ten hours." He glanced at the clipboard again. "Do you have any idea what could have caused this episode?"

Roy winced. "I have an idea. I'm hoping I'm wrong."

Dr. Stein nodded. "I had figured as much. I'm betting you saw this coming for a while. We looked at your medical records, and it looks like you've been having problems for a while. We also talked to the people who brought you in, to gauge your symptoms and time frame, and dug up dug up some medical records from your family. Based on this information, we have a pretty good idea of what the problem is, but that's worst-case scenario. I'd like to hear what's been bothering you from you yourself before making a call like that."

Mustang scoffed. "You sure went through a lot of trouble, didn't you?"

The doctor smiled. "Not at all. Your subordinates volunteered the information when they brought you in, and we only looked at your family's history to confirm a suspicion after your examination." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "Now, could you describe your symptoms?"

Roy sighed. "Vomiting, nausea, diarrhea, frequent urination, problems urinating, urinating blood, vomiting blood, bleeding easily, anemia, loss of appetite, skin irritation and possible jaundice, fever, swelling, erratic weight changes, frequent changes in heart rate, fatigue, and a taste for human flesh." He listed robotically. He knew them by heart, had read about them and recognized each one as it appeared within himself.

Stein raised an eyebrow. "What was that last one again?"

"Fatigue?"

"Of course." He flipped the clipboard closed and put it in the basket at the end of Mustang's bed. "I was afraid of that. Symptoms of kidney and liver failure, but also ones that present themselves when an organ is rejected." The doctor sighed. "Honestly, for you to be in such horrible shape means you must have been ignoring things for a long time. Although, I doubt we would have been able to do much even if we had caught it earlier, so I guess I can understand at least a little."

Roy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's Roettger's, isn't it?"

Dr. Stein nodded. "I'm afraid so. You probably saw this coming for a long time. And as you know, there's very little we can do. Your kidneys and liver are already failing, and the rest of your organs will follow. Assuming you live long enough for it to reach your heart and lungs, anyway. I'd say you have a few months; up to six at best. I'm sorry."

Mustang let out a bitter chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "Like my father's father before me," he muttered solemnly. "So much for fixing this rotten country. I can't even live to forty, much less change the world."

Stein looked at him in a curious manner, as if evaluating him. He closed the door, cutting off the room from the rest of the hospital. "You want to change the world, Major General?"

Roy looked at the doctor seriously. "I'm willing to climb over a mountain of corpses if it means preventing the hell of war even once." His gaze left Stein, focusing on some distant point in nothingness. "Not that it matters anymore. Any time I left I could have used to even bring someone else to the top will be wasted in a hospital bed."

The white lights of the hospital room reflected off of Dr. Stein's glasses, shielding his eyes from view. "I'm going to go ahead and sign your release papers."

Black eyes blinked in surprise. "Huh?"

"You're an alchemist, aren't you Mr. Mustang?" Stein jotted something down on a piece of paper quickly. "Do me a favor, would you? I have a friend in lower Central City I'd like you to visit. He might be able to help you come to terms with your condition." He smiled, handing the paper to Roy. He walked towards the door and prepared to leave, calling out as he left. "Good luck changing the world, Major General."

Roy looked at the paper. And then he read it again, just in case he saw it wrong the first time. And then he threw back his head and laughed so hard he couldn't breathe.

There was hope.

_Dr. Edward Elric, 1408 West Mako Ave. lower Central City, 33018_


	2. Chapter One: Diagnosis

Edward Elric liked to think of himself as humble, but he wasn't oblivious either. He was a goddamned genius and he knew it. Everyone knew it. He got certification as a State Alchemist at the age of twelve, and, more recently, completed medical training in both surgery and general medicine in under a year and a half.

He had been through hell and back, saved lives and livelihoods, and then a lot more lives when he became a doctor. Moreover, he had learned and discovered more about human transmutation than any other person when he sought to return his and his brother's bodies, and saw that if he applied this knowledge properly he could save more than just the two of them. That was why he entered med school.

The problem with this was the part where using alchemy on a human was illegal. But that was hardly going to stop Edward Elric, formerly the Fullmetal Alchemist. That just meant that he had to be circumspect. He knew people, and he knew that they could be quiet about his means if they were truly grateful.

And so now, at age twenty, he had a less-than-legal but perfectly prosperous practice, and he even had a doctor in the local major hospital referring patients to him on occasion. He was the fabled doctor who could cure any illness. Which worked fine for him.

It was a Monday in June when Ed's life doubled back on itself and then collapsed in a heap of what-the-fuckery, only to then pick itself back up and put itself back together upside down and just a little bit better for it.

Or at least that's how he likes to think of it. If he doesn't think of it that way, he fears his mind simply won't be able to process how strange this all is and break down.

In any case, that sunny day was when it started. He had been wandering around town for a while on minor errands, occasionally stopping to talk to friends and patients. It was just past two o'clock when arrived home. He lived in a small two story house, where his office was as well. The bottom floor was dedicated to his practice, and the top was where he actually lived. It was easier that way- alchemic circles carved into the floor would be suspicious in a hospital, but in the home of a renowned alchemist no one would think twice.

He reached his doorstep, but when he reached for the knob, he paused. He sighed around the apple lodged in his mouth, and shifted the grocery bag in his arms. The door handle was in a different position than he left it- watching it was a habit he had picked up from a lifetime of illegal activity.

Great. Just what he needed. A break-in. Hopefully it was just another hobo or uninsured patient in need. This wasn't the first time someone had broken into his house, and it wouldn't be the last. He just had to hope that the military wasn't one of them.

Edward opened the door carefully, setting down his grocery bag by the door and casting an eye around the room. Nothing so far. He took the apple out of his mouth, wincing at the jangling sound of his metal bracelets clanging together at the motion, and made his way further into the house.

And what should he see on his waiting room couch than Roy-Fucking-Mustang, doubled over with his head in his hands and wheezing in pain. Mustang looked up at Ed weakly when he entered.

"Hey, there, Fullmetal. It's been a while."

Ed wished he had taken another bite of his apple, just to have something to choke on.

"Hey, Colonel. You, uh. You look like shit."

Mustang gave a weak chuckle. "Thanks. But I'm not 'Colonel' anymore, you know, _Fullmetal_."

Ed rolled his eyes, taking a bite of his apple. "Maybe we should just use each others names, _Brigadier General_."

"It's _Major_ General, thank you." Mustang laughed, "It really HAS been a while, hasn't it, Edward? It feels good to argue with you again."

Ed smiled faintly. "Too bad it has to be under these circumstances, Roy. You really do look like shit. Is that jaundice?"

Roy leaned back on the couch tiredly. "Among other things. I have Roettger's Disease, so the symptoms just pile up on each other."

Ed's eyes widened. "Roettger's? Shit. It's far from common, Roy, are you sure that's what it is?"

A weak chuckle. "It's a genetic disease. To believe it's anything else would be foolishness. A doctor from St. Angelique's Hospital confirmed it, and then gave me your address."

"And so you came to me." Ed thought carefully. "Well, if you came this far, you obviously knew what you were getting into." He said, wandering over to a cabinet and opening the door to shuffle through it. "I'll need your medical charts. Dr. Stein is the only one who could have referred you to me, so he must have been your doctor. I should be able to get them from him fairly easily. There's nothing I can do immediately besides medicate you and start doing research to see what I can do." He looked to Roy again. "How far along are you?" He asked, pulling out two small pill bottles and tossing them to him.

"It's been building up for a few months, now. My kidneys and liver are just shy of being shot to hell." Mustang said, catching them with only a little difficulty.

The doctor nodded, closing the cabinet door and locking it. "Then there's a little time, but not much. Are you still checked into the hospital?"

Mustang's head shook in the negative. "I'd like to go home and return to work, if that's possible."

Edward sighed. "I suppose I'm not surprised. I know better than to try to stop you, but don't push yourself. I'll call you when I can think of a treatment plan."

Roy nodded, standing up. "Alright. But I'm an alchemist, too Edward, remember that. Any plans you think up I want in on."

A small smile graced Ed's lips. "Sure. It's your body, after all."

As Mustang left, Edward called out to him, "Be careful not to die, you dumb bastard!"

Roy laughed.

–

It being a rare genetic disorder, Edward only knew the bare minimum about Roettger's Disease.

It was genetic, meaning it was passes down through a family. Edward would venture a guess that a few people from Mustang's family had already fallen to it, for him to be so unsurprised by the diagnosis.

In Roettger's, the body would gradually stop recognizing it's own organs and attack them- starting with the digestive track and moving upwards.

There were no cures, and treatments only delayed the inevitable. An extremely painful inevitability.

Edward sighed into the telephone, looking over Mustang's charts. "Well, genetic disorders are different, Roy. For contacted illnesses I can clean out the invader and then repair the damage- it's not easy, but nothing in human transmutation is. But with genetic disorders, I can't get rid of the invading virus or bacteria- and in your case, even if I repair the damage to your liver and kidneys, your body will continue to attack itself- going for the lungs and heart, which will kill you much faster. I would have to continuously repair your body, one organ at a time, every week or so. And with that many transmutations on a body..."

"Something is bound to go wrong." Roy offered from the other line.

"Not only that, but your body can only heal itself so many times. Eventually, it would just stop working all together." He shifted the phone, putting the charts down and sitting back in his chair. "Medical alchemy is complicated- a cut can be easily transmuted back together, same as a tear in fabric. But if you have a hole in the fabric, then some of the material is missing. You have to make up for it. Same as with a body- the energy from the alchemic reaction stimulates regeneration, while the transmutation itself repairs the damage manually. So to speak. It's the combination of the transmutation and your body's natural healing ability that makes it work."

Roy sighed, a crackling sound coming form the phone. "But if the body can't heal itself, the transmutation can't make up for it."

"Exactly."

"So the only reasonable option is to change my genetics, which isn't actually reasonable at all."

"Pretty much. I mean, it's possible- I've tried it on rats, a simple change of one chromosome to see if it's possible. Well, the first three rats died, but I got it by the fourth. But anyway, it WOULD be possible. If it weren't for the human genome being vast and incomprehensible to anyone but geneticists."

"The fact that it's theoretically possible does not make me feel better, Elric."

"It should at least make you feel better to know it's not _completely_ hopeless." Ed offered.

"It doesn't. Finding the specific gene pattern and then altering it without affecting the rest of my genetic code is, to put it lightly, unlikely."

Edward sighed. "And to put it realistically, impossible." He thought for a moment. "I'll keep looking for another answer, but... We'll probably end up back at square one."

A brief silence from the other end of the phone. "If square one is all we have, I'll take it. I need to do as much as I can, even if you can only help me last another year."

"Hopefully, it won't come to that."

"Unlike you, Edward, hope is not something I like to gamble on."

–

Two days after that, Mustang was in his office, trying to decide if Hawkeye would be a suitable replacement for him. After deciding that she was at least better than Havoc, the phone rang. Distractedly, he picked it up.

"Mustang speaking."

"You stupid bastard!! Why didn't you TELL me that Roettger's is carried in the Y-Chromosome!!"

Roy blinked in surprise. "Edward? I'd figured you already knew. What does that have to-"

He was cut off by Edward's screeching. "It MEANS there's something I can do! I can cure you, you stupid son of a bitch! Probably. Anyway, I wouldn't have had to spend three days racking my brain for answer that wasn't fucking there if I knew this in the FIRST place!"

A stunned silence. "Really? There... It... I..."

"YES! Come over as soon as you can. I'll explain it there, and you can tell me if you want to go through with it."

"Why wouldn't I want to go through with a life-saving procedure, Edward?" He asked suspiciously.

"Well, there are certain... Side-effects. Think about it. It'll come to you." The doctor said, followed by the buzzing of the other line suggesting he had hung up.

Mustang looked at his phone. Then at the garbage bin he had thrown up in two hours before (and several days before).

He could not think of a side effect that would not be worth it.


	3. Chapter Two: Treatment

Mustang managed to get through the day, and the trip to the lower part of town, with out incident. Incident meaning, at this point, an excess of bodily fluids ejecting themselves from his body without his consent, or losing consciousness and use of any of his limbs at any point. So, aside from the stabbing pain and nausea, he was feeling pretty good, even if he rather wished he had a cane so he didn't have to stop and rest every twenty steps.

Roy made it to Dr. Elric's Clinic and let himself inside. He found Edward sitting at a desk and flipping through pages of a medical book with great concentration, not even looking up at the intrusion.

"Have a seat. Did you figure out what the side effects will be, or do I have to explain it?" The doctor said in lieu of an actual greeting, pushing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.

Mustang sat down. "Haven't thought about it. Since when do you wear glasses, Edward?" He asked curiously.

Ed finally looked at his guest, closing the book. "Since I've spent half my life with nose in a book. I don't bother to wear them when I'm outside, but I need them for reading." He stood up. "In any case. Since Roettger's is carried in the Y-Chromosome, I don't have to isolate the individual gene. I can simply remove the entire chromosome. After that, I'll need to deconstruct your body, and then let it reconstruct itself based on your new genetic pattern. It's dangerous, but I know what I'm doing, so you should be alright."

"Unless something goes horribly wrong." Roy added with a wry smile. He thought about Edward's plan. "I suppose, the Y-Chromosome is in no way necessary for life, is it? After all, women don't have one at... All..." He trailed off as a thought stuck him. He stared at the ceiling in contemplation, realizing the impact of the situation. "That's the side effect, isn't it? Removing the Y-Chromosome will get rid of the Roettger's but it will also turn me into a woman."

Ed nodded. "A woman with Turner's Syndrome, technically, but I can prevent the effects of that from manifesting during the transmutation." He confirmed.

Roy leaned back on the couch, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. "Well, if my choices are to live as a woman or die as a man, I'd say the course of action is obvious." He said after a while. To be honest, the thought was still a bit surreal. All of this was. Discovering he was dying, finding out he might not die, and now this... It was all a little hard to believe. It probably wouldn't really sink in until three days after the fact.

Edward smiled. "I figured as much. I'll spend tonight figuring out the transmutation circle, since there's obviously not one already in existence for such an operation. I'll call you if I haven't figured it out by then, but otherwise just come over tomorrow and we'll get this over with and get you cured."

Mustang let out a terse laugh. "And me feminized, in the process. I have no idea what the hell I'm going to say when I show up to work on Monday as a woman."

"Not my problem." Ed shrugged. "You might wanna warn Hawkeye and the others. Maybe they can come up with an explanation for your sudden sex change that doesn't involve illegal human transmutation." He offered. Then he paused, thinking."Come to think of it, doesn't anyone even know about the Roettger's or have you just brushed the hospitalization under the rug?"

"I may have failed to mention it. To anyone. At all."

"That might be a topic to bring up."

--

"First of all, you all already know that none of this information leaves this room, correct?" Mustang asked, casting his eyes at the occupants of the room.

Breda rolled his eyes. "If it was okay to spread the word, we would be having this meeting in the office instead of Fuery's tiny-ass living room."

Roy sighed. "Just making sure." He confirmed. "Anyway, as you may have noticed, I have recently come down with a... slight illness."

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow, recrossing her legs over the only chair in the room. "Slight illness? You passed out on your desk. We took you to the _hospital. _And you threw up in Fuery's sink five minutes ago!"

Fuery sighed. "You were already in the bathroom. I don't see why you had to use the sink when the toilet was right there..."

Roy coughed nervously into his hand. "Yes, well. A slight, fatal, incurable illness which is currently destroying my liver and kidneys and working its way through my stomach and pancreas towards my lungs. In fact, considering the bloody coughing fit I had before throwing up in Fuery's sink, I'd say it's actually hit my lungs by now."

There was a silence.

"...What?"

Mustang threaded his fingers together, leaning forward on the end table he sat on. "I am, as of right now, dying. However, if everything goes according to plan, I won't be by this time tomorrow."

Falman exchanged worried glances with Fuery and Havoc, with whom he shared the couch. "And how would that be accomplished, sir? If it is in fact incurable as you said...."

"Incurable, and nearly untreatable, yes. My normal medical means." Mustang confirmed.

Hawkeye's eyes widened. "Normal means? Sir, you can't be thinking of trying human transmutation!"

"No, I'm not." Mustang replied, causing the room to sigh in relief. Until the next sentence. "I'm having someone else do it _for_ me."

Havoc bit through his cigarette. "Are you out of your mind? I know you're already dying, but that doesn't mean things can't get any worse! I'm not an alchemist, but everyone knows that human transmutation is one of the most complex and _stupid_ things an alchemist can do! There's a reason it's illegal!"

Mustang smiled slyly. "Yes. You're right. Which is why I went to the one person who I would ever trust to pull off a successful human transmutation. And has even done so in the past."

Eyes widened. "You don't mean..."

"Indeed." The Major General confirmed. His smile tugged at the corners of his lips playfully. "He didn't even make me beg for help. I had rather suspected he would."

Havoc let out a barking laugh. "Well, if anyone can do it, it'd be the boss."

The rest of the room murmured in assent, and the tension in the room boiled down to a tolerable unease. Which Mustang prepared to cut into with the slicing blade of utter what-the-fuckery, as he so loved to do.

"The reason I'm telling you this rather than pretending the whole fiasco never happened at all is that there will be a rather noticeable side effect I thought I should warn you about." He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Due to the nature of the disease, the only sure way to get rid of it will also... Turn me into a woman." Roy finished quickly. He released his breath slowly. Somehow, saying it out loud made it more real, forced him to acknowledge that this was actually going to happen. And yet, he still hadn't quite accepted it. He pushed forward, regardless, once again pushing the fact to the back of his mind where he didn't have to realize the impact of it.

Meanwhile, the rest of the room gawked. "What?" Was the general consensus.

"I'm sorry, sir, for a moment it sounded like you just said you would be a woman." Fuery said after a moment.

"That's because I did. The disease is carried in the Y-Chromosome, so the safest way to rid me of it is to eliminate the chromosome itself. Which will end up with me only having one X-Chromosome. Making me a woman."

Silence.

Havoc was the first to break it, after a few moments of sitting in the awkward atmosphere asking, "So, when you're a girl, will you get pissed off at me if I hit on you?"

"..." The silence sat for a while. Before Roy burst out laughing, the rest of the room following.

"I suppose that would be pretty hypocritical of me, wouldn't it? Have at it, Havoc! Give me your best." Mustang laughed.

Hawkeye rolled her eyes. "Please tell me you morons have realized that there's no way this will go unnoticed? You walk into headquarters with a sex change and someone's going to catch on that there was an illegal human transmutation." She barked, glaring at Mustang.

"I know, I know. That's another reason I arranged this meeting; I was hoping you guys would help me come up with an excuse."

The general consensus of the room this time was to wince. After that a round of 'Uh's and 'Um's, someone actually came up with an idea. Albeit a useless one.

"Well. You could say it wasn't a transmutation, I guess. Like, a surgery." Falman offered.

"No, that doesn't seem like a good idea. Probably wouldn't even work." Breda argued, leaning back against the wall where he stood.

Fuery scratched the back of his head. "How noticeable will the change even be? I mean, we pretty much all look the same stuffed in those uniforms..."

Mustang leaned back with a sigh. "There's no way to know right now. Either way, I want to get this taken care of now. Hiding something in the military is never a good idea- eventually, someone always finds out."

The others nodded. There was more silence, and a few more bum suggestions.

"Well... You could always say it was involuntary. That you got caught in an array and that was the result." Breda suggested.

There was a moment of contemplation, before Mustang nodded. "That's not bad, actually. There would have to be a reason I got caught in a transmutation circle, though."

"Well, obviously, we were on the trail of an alchemist suspected of human transmutation, and then. Y'know. Bam." Havoc offered.

"We'll need a suspect." Hawkeye added. "Falman can make up some documents of our 'chase' of this guy..."

Mustang's eyes lit up. "I do believe we already have a suspect, actually." He turned to Fuery, "Where is your phone? I need to confirm something."

He was directed to the very end table he was perched on, where the phone rested next to the lamp he was in front of. He dialed out and let it ring for a moment.

"Edward. Have you performed human transmutations on any other patients? Excellent. Then there are probably rumors around town, right? Of a- no, Ed, I am not going to get you arrested. That would be rather foolish considering the current situation." He brought the phone a few inches away from his face with a wince as the voice on the other end got louder. "No, I know what I'm doing. Look, if there are rumors, I can validate reports- Would you listen to me? I need there to be an alchemist I can say turn- No, you don 't have to flee the country, let me finish. I know. Seriously, let me finish. I just needed to know so that I can be certain that if someone digs into my report on my sudden sex change they'll see that I was actually chasing someone. Yes, it is technically you, but it's not like I'm going to give them your address, Edward. No one will be able to dig deep enough to know it's you, because they won't have any actual information. Yes. No. the one conducting the imaginary investigation on the alchemist performing human transmutations is still us, so it's not like we'll catch you, Ed. Yes, you'll have every right to skewer me if you get arrested, but that's not going to happen. I'm hanging up now, so you can just yell at the dead line if you like."

Mustang hung up the phone with a sigh. "Well. There you go."

"Well. Good to know he hasn't changed." Havoc said with a smile.

Roy laughed, although it turned into a coughing fit after a moment. "Actually, he has. He's taller, for one."

He was interrupted by the phone ringing, and hesitantly picked it up. "Yes?"

"_Fuck you!" _**Click.**

Roy blinked at the phone. "Also, he is apparently now psychic."

"He was probably just trying to get the last word in on your 'conversation'." Riza said with a sigh. "But anyway, we're going to need a location to say we chased the alchemist to. Preferably with whatever array Edward is using on the ground to verify the story, though we should destroy part if it so it can't be properly studied." She said thoughtfully.

"How about one of the old research labs? Hell, even what's left of Lab 5 would work..." Breda suggested.

"Most of them are closed down, and Lord knows if Edward and Alphonse could break into one at fifteen, anyone could be using those places."

"We should check one out, see if it suits the plan." Falman said. "The operation is tomorrow?"

Roy nodded.

Havoc sighed, standing up. "Then we've got a lot of work to do."

Fuery's voice echoed from the next room. "Oh, GOD! There's blood all over my bathroom!"

Mustang coughed. "Sorry! My bad."

"You know you just coughed up blood on his carpet, right?"

--

The next day, Hawkeye accompanied Mustang to Dr. Elric's Clinic. The door was answered before they got a chance to even knock (not that Mustang had bothered to knock either of the last times he came), and Ed ushered them inside.

"Hello, Hawkeye. Okay, the second OR is this way; that's where I do the transmutations. There are basic circles carved into the floor, and whatever further arrays are necessary I draw over and around them." He instructed, leading them down a hallway quickly.

"Hello to you too, Edward. And Riza is fine." She said patiently. "Should I follow as well?"

Ed glanced back at her. "Ah, no. There's a couch. Sorry about that. But it's good thing you came, you can take him home when we're finished."

Riza smiled. "Actually, we'll be taking him to Lab Four. And then the hospital. In fact, it would be nice if you could give us a sketch of the array you're using so we can leave some evidence in the lab when we blow it up."

A golden eyebrow arched. "Sure, I've got the original sketches in my desk." Ed replied, heading towards the end of the hallway. "Make sure you don't get my ass arrested, alright?"

Roy followed him inside the operating room.

"Have you made your final preparations?" Ed asked him, glancing at the swirling patterns and shapes painted on the walls in deep red-brown to make sure everything was in order.

Mustang scoffed. "I don't intend to die. But if you mean did I live my last days as a man with no regrets, then... Not quite. I'm a bit sick to sleep with any beautiful women, but I did jerk it until my hand was raw."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Gorgeous. Take off your clothes and sit down in the middle of the array."

"My clothes?"

"If we're going to do this, I don't want any mistakes. Take it all off. Did I remember to tell you not to eat today?" Ed said, crouching in the corner of the room to thicken a rust-colored line on the wall.

"No, but I haven't eaten since yesterday anyway. What with the nausea and vomiting. And.... Things of that nature." Mustang said, watching Ed as he undressed. "Is that... Is that drawn in blood?"

Ed didn't bother to glance at him. "Yes. The very base is yours; the blood sample I got from Dr. Stein. The rest is, unfortunately, mine. I'm a little tired from the anemia, but it's the best medium for human transmutations."

Roy nodded, sitting down in the middle of the floor. "I see."

"Human transmutations are too delicate to do without arrays, unfortunately. And the arrays need to be of the same material as the object being transmuted or stray material could be mixed in- fine for a clock, but you don't want this much chalk dust getting into the body." Ed said, walking up to Roy and standing behind him. "Which is also why I won't be using any anesthetic- any stray elements in your body could interfere with the transmutation." Ed added.

"I know, Ed. I'm an alchemist too, remember?"

Edward nodded. "Ah. Sorry. I'm used to explaining this shit in detail. The patients tend to want to know what I'm gonna do to their body and why." He said, scratching the back of his head. "Anyway, since I can't use anesthetic, you know what I have to do, right?"

Roy blinked. "Um. No?"

Ed struck the back of the Major General's head, and he fell unconscious to the floor.

"Damn, that felt good. I've wanted to do that for _years._"

--

The residents of St. Angelique's Hospital were quite used to hustle and bustle. And especially used to soldiers being admitted. Dubious circumstances were nothing new, either, and strange maladies of alchemic miscalculation happened from time to time, but the nurses were, for once, completely baffled.

"Are these charts accurate? They can't be. We have the wrong patient's charts!"

"No, I'm telling you, this is the Major General! We were chasing an alchemist, and there was a bright light and then an explosion, and now he's like- like this!"

"But I've never heard of an alchemic reaction resulting in- in _this_!"

"Human transmutation is one thing, but this is just insane! Where is his doctor? WHO is his doctor, actually?"

"Dr. Stein is. I'll call him immediately!"

Roy Mustang woke slowly, consciousness returning in a haze. Vision blurring, dark eyes blinked at bright ceiling lights, and a bespectacled face came in to focus, and then swam out again.

The person-shaped image smiled, and an amused voice chuckled in greeting.

"Good morning, Miss Mustang. I see you visited my friend?"

--


	4. Chapter Three: Remission

Roy woke up a second time with an unsurprising headache and the dizzy fog of medication trying to gently coax him back to sleep. He ignored the lull, sitting up carefully before his muscles failed him and he fell back into the bed. He noticed absently that the bed he was in was more comfortable than the sheeted cardboard of St. Angelique's, and cast his eyes around the room.

Wooden walls painted a warm rose, and end table with an empty vase. A comfortable bed with clean white sheets and a blue quilt gently tucked under soft pillows. He had passed by this room once or twice, even if he had never been in here. Ed's house.

"What the hell am I doing back in this hellhole?" he muttered quietly.

"Preparing to be stabbed by a scalpel, I'd say." An annoyed voice replied from the doorway. Roy looked over to see Edward stepping inside, Hawkeye and Havoc hovering behind him.

"Edward?" Mustang asked dumbly, attempting to sit up again.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Normally I go by that name, but considering what I accomplished, I do believe you can call me Jesus Christ your Lord and Savior. Don't bother sitting up, they put enough drugs in you they may as well have slammed you with a block of concrete."

Roy leaned back in bed. "Ugh. That explains why I feel like I've got the hangover from Hell, at least." He looked down at himself- or what he could see under his now ill-fitting uniform. Too many clothes to see any real changes, and too much of a headache to notice how his new body felt. Aside from the fact that he was for some reason hyper-aware of his toes, but that might be the drugs.

"Uh, yeah. The drugs explain the headache. Certainly." Ed mumbled, pointedly not looking at Mustang.

"I think I have too many toes. You gave me too many toes, Ed. I feel like I have like, at least eight," the Major General mumbled, rolling his head back onto the pillow.

Ed winced, looking at the medical chart they had sent to him when Mustang was transferred out of St. Angelique's. What exactly had he been given again...? "Um. You don't have eight toes. You have ten, I promise."

"Ten? That's twice as many as I want! What have you done?"

Havoc and Hawkeye exchanged worried glances. "What exactly did you do, Edward?"

"I didn't do anything weird- it's just..." He flipped through the medical chart hurriedly. "A LOT of morphine. I don't see how he has a headache. Or can speak, actually." Ed defended, drawing his eyebrows together. "This can't be legal... Stein just gave him this much to fuck with me, didn't he?"

"What the hell am I doing back here, Edward?" Roy asked, trying not to pay attention to his toes. It was proving rather difficult.

Hawkeye gently pushed past Ed into the room, and stepped to the bed. "Dr. Stein recommended that you be brought to your personal physician, as Dr. Elric would know more about your body than him and could pinpoint anything was wrong more easily." She said gently.

Roy rolled his eyes. "That sounds like a cop-out if there ever was one."

"Yeah, it's a cop-out. Stein's kind of a dick sometimes," Ed agreed. "Especially since the fucker KNOWS there's nothing wrong with your body- I'm way too good at what I do to make a dumb mistake like that." He said with an air of smug annoyance. "Anyway, you should probably go back to sleep until the morphine wears off. I really don't need you going off about how much you hate me and my goose or something weird like that."

"It's not my fault your goose is a whore, Edward." Mustang grinned. "Sleep is good. Maybe I'll think about my toes less."

"That's probably for the best. Would it help if I promised you have the exact right number of them?"

"Nooooo." Roy mumbled into his pillow. "That's a lie. There are a billion. And your goose is a dirty whore."

Hawkeye cast a concerned glance at Ed, who was currently rolling his eyes. "Fucking Stein and his drugs. Lucky he didn't dissect Mustang while he had the chance."

Hawkeye sighed and looked back to her commanding officer. He was already sleeping peacefully.

* * *

Roy woke a third time since the operation completely lucid and with a minor headache. Which he could now attribute to Edward beating him into unconsciousness before the operation. He swore silently to himself; Elric was gonna pay for that one.

He could hear voices from the waiting room; ones he recognized. His head swiveled to the end table where the clock rested- just before five in the morning. It was Sunday, why the hell were people actually awake at such an ungodly hour? And why were Havoc and Hawkeye still there, to think on it?

He ignored the thought, trying to sit up. His muscles protested weakly, claiming they had no idea what this "sitting upright" was or why he would want to do such a thing. He ignored them, glancing at the sunlight streaming gently through the windows as he made it up fully.

"Someone get in here and help me stand up," he called out, wincing at the sound of his own voice. "And bring a mirror."

"Should I bring you breakfast in bed as well, your highness?" A voice shouted out in response.

Another chided it quickly. "Edward! Don't be rude, he just got an entirely new body!" Hawkeye's voice rang sharply.

"Shove it in your ass, hag. It's five in the fucking morning- no human should be awake, much less making demands!"

"Oh, God, Riza, put the gun away! He didn't mean it, let's get some coffee in him and he'll be fine!"

"Fuck you, Jean. I won't hurt him badly, just a little graze-"

"Bring it, bitch!"

"Both of you, for the love of GOD-"

Roy tried to stand up, hoping to stop whatever fight was breaking out before any shots were fired. He failed, his legs quickly giving way as he fell out of bed with a loud "thump".

Fortunately, the sound of his body hitting the floor was enough to break up the fight, and the three shuffled into the room.

"Are you okay, Roy?" Ed asked, helping him off the floor.

He shook his head, groaning. "I'm fine. The mirror- a full one, if you can. Please," Mustang pleaded, starting to unbutton his coat. Ed nodded, stepping back from the bed. He clapped his hands, and the metal bangles around his right wrist leaked to the floor in a puddle, before standing up into a paper-thin sheet of reflective mercury, as good as any mirror.

Roy avoided looking at it. Not until he could see everything at once. He pulled off his coat, starting on the buttons of his shirt.

"Your muscles will be weak for a little while- I had to build them from scratch, same as everything else, so they probably aren't strong enough to support you." Ed offered, reaching out to help with the buttons Roy's new fingers, thinner than he was used to, were fumbling with. "But I did manage to put you back together with some muscle definition, so you won't have to start from scratch. A bit of exercise should get you in shape easily."

Roy nodded, trying not to look at his own body. He unbuttoned his pants and stepped out of them, underwear as well, and stepped towards the mirror. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

The first thing he thought, was, oddly, that he looked like his mother. It was a little disconcerting, actually. He was looking at a naked woman in the mirror, and it was him. He was looking at his own body. A delicate white hand reached out, touching the mirror gently. His hand. A woman's hand.

He looked at his reflection carefully, studying it. He was shorter than before, but not by too much. He had never been a very tall man, to be honest, but it was relieving to know he was at least a moderately tall woman. His skin was smooth and completely flawless- not a single callous or scar, and even the bottoms of his feet were soft and vulnerable without the toughened skin of age protecting them. He twisted slightly to check to see if he still had a mole on his side- he did. It was a small comfort.

He had definitely been with women more curvaceous than the one he was looking at, but that was the price of having so much Xing blood in him. Same reason he had never been tall. In exchange, he needed to shave half as often as other men, and a quick glance at his arms and legs told him he wouldn't need to learn to navigate a razor around kneecaps, either. Another small comfort, though one he could easily do without as well.

Short legs and smaller breasts than most of the women he knew, but still pleasantly full. They were a nice set, actually. He rather liked them. Just not on himself, so much.

His eyes at last landed on his face. He was relieved to see that the differences were subtle- all in all, he was still easily recognized as Roy Mustang. Softer features, fuller lips, a rounder jaw. His eyes were the same- still Roy Mustang's eyes. Somehow, that was a bigger relief than anything.

Roy stepped back from the mirror and glanced at the room behind him- empty. Apparently, the others had deigned to give him privacy, something for which he was grateful. He put his shirt on, buttoning it carefully, and stepped out into the hallway. He found Edward, Hawkeye and Havoc in the waiting room, downing coffee like it was a prophylactic to cancer. For some reason, the only thing he could think to say was, "My scars are gone."

They looked at him. Ed nodded. "Yeah- I had to rebuild you body altogether with your new genetic pattern, so anything that wasn't included in the gene code wasn't included. Your hair's the same because the tissue was already dead, so..." He took another drink of coffee, glancing away. "Maybe you should put on pants?"

Roy glanced down at himself, as if to confirm his lack of clothing, even though he knew he wasn't wearing any. He wasn't really concerned with his lack of pants right now- he was thinking about his scars. Every scar was a memory- mistake made, a battle fought. He hadn't been proud of all of them, but they were important reminders of where he'd been and what he'd done. From Ishbal, from the Homonculi, form the military academy. Reminders of where he came from.

And all of them were gone, leaving him with a clean slate. Even the callouses on his fingers from the rough ignition cloth were gone. He was virginal in every way.

"...I've been re-hymenized." He mumbled quietly, trying not to be surprised by the softness of his own voice.

Ed raised an eyebrow. "That's one way to look at it. Come to think of it, you actually do have a hymen now." He took another sip of his coffee. "Also, women weigh less then men, and as we all know matter can neither be created nor destroyed, so... Do you want the spare parts I took out?"

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. "What?" Havoc asked after a moment.

"Spare parts. Excess bone and muscle mass that did not fit into your new body. Right now it's just in a bucket in the fridge next to the blood bags, so if you want it back, it's there."

"....What?" Hawkeye scoffed, eyes wide.

"That's a joke, right?"

Ed smirked. "Anyway, you should probably think about new clothes. I don't think your uniforms fit anymore.

"...There's not seriously a bucket of muscle tissue in your refrigerator, is there? Ed?"

--


	5. Chapter Four: Recovery

An hour later, when Havoc was asleep in one of the patient beds and Hawkeye was working on forging records for the latest let's-bail-out-Mustang adventure (this one being womanhood), Roy was in the middle of exercising his virgin leg muscles when a thought occurred to him. His head shot up faster than the prom queen's when her dad opened the door to the back seat of her boyfriend's car, and his eyes widened in horror.

"Gracia's going to kill me."

Ed glanced at him from his desk, where he was looking over medical charts for other patients. "Forgot to call her, I take it?"

Roy leaned back on the couch, running a hand through his hair wearily. "How am I going to explain to Elysia why Uncle Roy is suddenly Aunt Roy?"

Edward smiled from around the rim of his coffee cup. "Maybe you should call? I'm sure she'd be happy to help you adjust," he smirked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Hawkeye flicked her eyes over to Mustang. "That might be a good idea. The more she helps you with, the less I have to."

Roy winced. Gracia's enthusiasm was known to rival her late husband's in certain situations, and her payback for not telling her about the sickness, or treatment, would likely be... extreme. If he was lucky. Elysia wasn't even nine years old and Gracia was already turning her into a lady, or at least trying.

Gracia had started working at a flower shop during the day when Elysia started school, even though her widow's pension still paid for their living expenses. The fact was, Gracia was bored and lonely, and would take any excuse for company- which was why Roy visited at least once a month. It was also why he knew she was going to use this as the excellent excuse to spend more time with Roy that, incidentally, it was.

He groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Alright. Where's the phone?" he conceded. The sooner he talked to Gracia, and the more he let her do, the better off he was.

Ed's smile widened. "I already called her a half hour ago. She'll be here at eight, and is very curious about why you needed me as a doctor or why it is a good idea for her to visit, so... Have fun explaining."

Mustang glared. "You're the _devil_."

"How am I a devil just for enjoying tormenting you?" Ed asked innocently. "To be perfectly honest, this right here is payback for every 'short' comment you ever slung my way," the doctor grinned. "Which is really letting you off easy, if you ask me."

Mustang frowned. "You know that as of right now you're taller than me, right?"

"That's why I'm letting you off with just Gracia." Ed sang cheerfully, sipping his coffee. "By the way," he added slyly, "you're awfully cute when you pout like that."

"I'm not pouting!"

"You're definitely pouting, sir."

"Shut up, Hawkeye."

–

Two hours after that, when the doorbell rang, Roy Mustang took what he viewed as the only reasonable option. He hid under the couch. Ed opened the door to be tackled by Elysia with an enthusiastic squeal, and Gracia stepped inside with all of the grace one of her name should possess. She smiled calmly.

"I hope you don't mind I brought Elysia with me; I couldn't find a babysitter this early," she glanced around the foyer. "So, where is he?"

"Hiding under the couch," Riza supplied helpfully. From under the furniture, an annoyed voice shouted, "Shut up, Hawkeye! What's the point of hiding if you're going to give me away like that?"

"You shouldn't be hiding anyway, sir. It's very unbecoming."

"You're supposed to be on my side! What the hell do I pay you for?"

"To clean up your messes, naturally. Which I'm almost finished with, if you'll shut up long enough for me to concentrate."

"I hate you all." Roy muttered, only to be faced with Gracia Hughes, bending over enough to look under the couch at him. She smiled warmly.

"Hello, Roy. Care to tell me what's troubling you?"

"Um. No?" He squeaked shyly, burying his face in the carpet.

Gracia raised an eyebrow. "You seem different, Roy. I'd appreciate it if you tell me what's going on."

Mustang winced. Slowly, he crawled out form under the couch, brushing himself off and standing up straight, looking her in the eye.

Gracia stepped back, her eyes widening. "Oh my god, Roy."

Elysia, hearing her mother, detached herself from Ed's shirt and bounced over to see what the commotion was. She blinked in surprise, and then burst out laughing. "Uncle Roy's a LADY!"

"Elysia! Don't be rude," Gracia scolded. She turned back to Roy, looking at him sternly. "What happened?"

Scratching the back of his head, Roy tried not to look like he was floundering for an answer. "Well. Do you want the truth, or what I plan on telling everyone?"

"Roy," was the only word Gracia needed to say to convey her feeling on the matter.

"I did it." Edward said, stepping up to pull Roy out of the water he was flailing in. "He needed a life-saving medical procedure, which I provided. With a certain cost." He supplied calmly.

A delicate blond eyebrow raised. "The cost being a sex change, Edward? You're going to have to explain it a little better than that."

"I have - _had_ Roettger's Disease. It affects the Y-chromosome, so curing it required.... Well, this." Mustang added carefully, gesturing at his new feminine form.

Gracia looked thoughtful for a moment, before nodding with a sigh. "I don't know much about medicine, and even less about alchemy, so I'll have to trust you." She turned to Ed. "Thank you for telling me, Edward. If he was left on his own, I doubt Roy would have ever bothered to inform me."

"I would have," Roy defended himself hastily. "Eventually."

She graced the Major General with another smile. "Judging by the fact that you're still wearing your uniform pants, I'd say this change is recent?"

Roy nodded. "Just last night. I haven't gotten used to the changes yet, obviously." In fact, in terms of feeling different, the only change he could categorize involved no longer wanting to throw up his own lungs. Which was, to say the least, an improvement.

With that same gentle smile, Gracia calmly informed him, "You do realize that I'm going to help you through this whether you like it or not, don't you?"

"Yes, I had realized that I... would not be going through this alone," he said carefully.

Elysia detached herself from Hawkeye's side, deeming her paperwork boring. She bounced cheerfully up to Roy. "So, you're really really a lady now?" she chirped curiously. "Can I see?"

Ed crouched down to eye level with the child, grinning at her. "Say, Elysia. How about you and I hang out for a while while your mom takes Unc- er, Auntie Roy out for a while?" he asked.

Her eyes sparkled. "This time are you gonna teach me to kick bad men in the junk like you promised?"

He laughed nervously. "Um. We'll see," he replied, glancing towards the girl's mother - whose eyebrow was raised in silent inquiry.

"Oh, don't let me stop you. As long as she doesn't start maiming her classmates I don't mind what she learns," Gracia smiled.

Roy frowned. "Edward, you are not seriously going to teach a nine year old girl to suckerpunch men in the groin, are you?"

"Looks like I have to now," Ed said with a shrug. Elysia bounced happily at his side.

Hawkeye leaned back in the desk chair, eying the doctor warily. "If you're training Elysia to do that, I fear what kind of things you'd teach your own daughter, Edward."

"Oh, I'd stick with the basic crotchpunching. I'd just add alchemy," the physician smiled. He looked thoughtful for a momet. "And maybe knife fighting."

"Why stop there?" Roy said, rolling his eyes. "Teach her martial combat and gun use as well."

"Nah. I don't like guns. But the hand-to-hand is a good idea."

Gracia laughed. "Well, as long as I don't come home to my daughter having a knife in her hand, I'll trust your judgment, Ed." She turned back to Roy. "Now then, I think we should start by getting you some clothes that actually fit, don't you?"

Roy looked down at himself; oversized shirt and pants rolled at the cuffs, cinched tightly with a belt. He didn't fit in his own shoes anymore. "I suppose," he said wearily. It was going to be a long day.

On their way out the door, Gracia paused, glancing back at Ed. "You _were_ joking about the knife-fighting, right?"

–

Roy Mustang took two steps into the department store and immediately decided he was in Hell.

Rack upon rack of shirts and dresses, skirts and jackets, blouses and pants. Further ahead, a labyrinth of cosmetics stands and their perfume-armed clerks, ready to fire upon any wayward woman searching for a new handbag. A forest of shoes, lining shelves as tall as he was. On the far wall, he spied every form of lingerie he has ever heard of, plus several he hadn't. And finally, standing at his side as a beacon of all the horrors surrounding him was Gracia, green eyes sparkling with anticipation.

The incarnation of all that terrifies men grinned at him. "Shall we?"

The only thing stopping Roy from bolting out of the store right there was that smile - genuinely happy, the likes of which he had not seen on her face for years. He sighed in resignation. "Lead the way."

Over the next hour, they discovered that he was now a size four, unless the sizing system was backwards, in which case he was a three; a size six in underwear, seven in shoes, and 34-C in brassieres. He also discovered that if he did not write these down now he would have to go through the process all over again; a realization that forced him to scribble abbreviated notes on his shirtsleeve in Gracia's lipstick.

And now that they knew what size to shop for, the real work had begun. And as much as Roy just wanted to grab a few pairs of pants and get out of there, Gracia was obviously having a ball.

A this exact moment, she was holding a yellow shirt to his chest and muttering. "Yellow's no good, either. Looks like light colors are a no-go on you, after all. You can pull off brights if you try, but I'd say it's best to stick to dark colors."

Roy nodded. "I always liked blue best anyway," he commented absently.

"I was thinking more along the lines of red, but that's not bad. Olive would be nice, too. No, you're too pale for olive... In fact, with skin this white and hair like yours, you'll look stunning in black. Since it looks good on everyone it's not usually anyone's color, but I think for you black is way to go," she nodded, as if to agree with her own words.

He tried to make sense of her ramblings. "So... black and red? I should wear black and red?"

She frowned. "But red is kind of a slutty color... maybe you _should_ stick to dark blue. We don't want to make you look like a floozy, after all."

"I like floozies," Roy said with a humored smile. "Actually, I rather like red, as well."

"We can get red, too," Gracia smiled. "But this would be much easier if you expressed your opinions, Roy. So far it's just been me shopping this whole time, when we're finding clothes for _you_. I know we have to replace your entire wardrobe, and while I wouldn't mind I'm sure you don't want to spend the whole day shopping..."

Roy winced at the thought. "I don't really have an opinion on these things, though. I just want..." he trailed off.

What did he want? To go home? And then what? Sleep more? Work? Nothing he did would make him forget what had happened. He was eternally grateful to be alive, but right now being alone was only going to give him time to dwell on things he didn't need to. Even if it was obvious he couldn't just ignore what was now the indisputable truth, he didn't need to stew in it. He needed time - time to adjust, to get used to the fact that his body had been violently ripped from him in a torrent of blood, urine and vomit and replaced with a foreign vessel, full of unfamiliar curves and impractically soft skin.

His feet already hurt, and he had only been on them for an hour. His legs were weak, and felt like they could give out at any moment, and while it was only a minor nuisance compared to the pain he had been in for the past few weeks, it was still a constant reminder of _change._

He was never going to be the same.

And suddenly, it was all too much. The fluorescent lights of the department store shining in his eyes, the heavy odor of abused perfume samples suffocating him. The pain in his feet, the soreness of his thighs. The weight on his chest.

It was far too hot in that store. The air was thin, and Roy was, with equal suddenness, having a hard time breathing. His chest constricted with every new thought wandering into his head, and they were all coming so fast, he was thinking faster than he could even comprehend any of his thoughts, and it so very hard to breathe -

He had to get out of there. He couldn't do this- he couldn't be in this place, surrounded by these women, he had to leave, and it didn't matter where just so long as he was _out of there._

He ran. He ignored Gracia's surprised cry - she couldn't see him like this. No one could. It didn't matter where he was running to as long as it was somewhere no one would see the tears welling in his eyes or how difficult each breath was to take. Finding a changing room, he quickly dove inside, locking the door behind him and sliding to to floor.

No one could see. No one was allowed to see, no one could see so they couldn't look down on him for completely freaking out in front of every housewife for miles, no one could see, there was no way he'd allow that, even if he was a goddamned woman like the rest of them, because he wasn't a woman, he was _Roy fucking Mustang_, goddamn it, and he was a man.

Roy took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, with that last thought playing in his head.

He was Roy Mustang. Major General or the Amerstris National Military, Flame Alchemist. And he was better than this. He was better than hiding a goddamned ladies changing room and crying, and he was better than this goddamned panic attack he was having - he survived Ishbal without killing himself, he could sure as hell survive womanhood.

He stood up quickly, wiping the tears from his eyes. He slammed the door open, standing tall and with his head held high, and said:

"I am Roy _fucking_ Mustang, dammit! I can do this! And I'm gonna go buy some god damned panties!"

Gracia, who had followed him and was standing just outside the changing area, buried her face in her hands.

Thinking about it, that might not have been the best choice of words.

--

"So, how'd it go?" A freshly awakened Havoc asked when Roy and Gracia came back.

There was a pause, as the two exchanged wary glances.

"Good. It went very well," Gracia said uneasily.  
"Yes. Quite well," Roy agreed.

There was a girlish screech and a giggle from the next room, and Ed came into the foyer with Elysia perched on her shoulders.

"You're getting too heavy for this, you know," Ed said, glancing up at her.

She pouted indignantly. "Are you calling me fat?"

"Well, you could certainly stand to lose a little weight," he grinned, and was reprimanded by a ruthless tug on his ponytail. "Ow ow ow, I was joking!"

Gracia laughed gently, putting down the shopping bags she carried and reaching up to pluck her daughter off Edward's shoulders.

"Oh my, you are getting too big to pick up, aren't you?" She said, a touch of surprise on her face as she put Elysia back on the ground.

Ed grinned, picking her up again and flinging her over his shoulder. "Nah. She's still just a little thing. When she turns into a teenager, I'll still be able to toss her in the air," he said, punctuating the sentence by spinning rapidly in circles.

"EEK! Not so fast, I'm gonna throw up, I'm gonna throw up!" Elysia screeched with a giggle.

Gracia laughed again. "Ed, I'd appreciate it if you didn't make my daughter sick. I still need to take her home."

Ed nodded, placing Elysia back on her feet and watching her totter around dizzily.

Roy stepped fully into the house. "Actually, I think it's about time we left, too."

Havoc nodded, standing up. "I'll bring these bags to the car. Someone's gonna need to wake up Hawkeye - I made her take a nap when I realized she'd she'd been up all night."

"I'll get her!" Elysia volunteered cheerfully, dashing off to the guest rooms before anyone had a chance to say yay or nay.

"I hope she wasn't too much trouble, Ed," Gracia said as she watched her daughter race off.

"She's... E\exhausting," he laughed. "But a lot of fun. You know I'll watch her anytime."

Roy smiled to himself, having watched the entire exchange, and Elysia came back into the foyer with a barely-awake Riza in tow.

Hawkeye stifled a yawn, slipping her uniform jacket on her shoulders and gesturing to the corner. "Coat rack," was the only thing she bothered to say.

Roy nodded, reaching over to pull his jacket off. He didn't bother to put it on, just slinging it over his arm and digging into the pockets.

He let out an unconscious breath of relief as he pulled out his gloves, pulling them onto his hands. He frowned. They were too big, now.

Ed watched him, before walking up to Roy. "Here, hold out your hands for a second."

With a clap of his hands a touch to Roy's, the gloves shifted on his hands, rippling and moving in a flash of light before settling back into shape, fitting perfectly.

Roy flexed his fingers carefully. He couldn't quite explain it, but for the first time all day, he felt whole again.

"Thank you."

--


	6. Chapter Five: Convalescence

Major General Roy Mustang walked down the hallway to his office in Central with his head held high. His shirt was too long, his pants were too loose, and his boots were too big, making a strange hollow clunking noise with each footstep, but nonetheless, he walked proudly. As proudly as anyone who had recently switched genders and could barely stay on their feet for more than fifteen minutes at a time could, anyway.

The first thing to do, he knew, was to report on the explosion to his closest immediate superior, one General Kevin Yeegar. And, while normally in this situation he would strategically fail to check in until he was reminded, it was pretty clear that under the circumstances the thing to do was bite the bullet and go straight to his superior to try to talk his way through a sex-change.

This, he realized, might be tricky.

Nonetheless, Roy marched to General Yeegar's office with intent, knocking raptly on the door. "Major General Roy Mustang here to see you, General," he announced firmly.

"Thank you, Julia," a rough voice called from behind the door. "Send him in for me."

Mustang frowned, glancing behind him. The girl at the desk, presumably Julia, shrugged, waving him inside.

Roy stepped inside and saluted, and the General nodded, not looking up from a stack of paperwork on his desk.

"Welcome back, Major General. It's unusual for you to report to me on your own - this Lab 4 explosion must have been quite something. What did you find?"

Roy cleared his throat. "Not much, sir. The culprit was not in the area. We have, however, definitively confirmed the existence of an alchemist performing illegal human transmutations. There is also the remains of a transmutation circle used in human transmutations, though most of it was destroyed in the explosion."

General Yeegar nodded. "That's progress, at least. But what do you mean by 'definitive proof?'"

"Um," Roy coughed. The general finally looked up, an eyebrow raised at Mustang's noncommittal response.

Yeegar blinked, rubbed his eyes, and twitched his mouth in a manner that made his white mustache wiggle comically.

"Oh."

"Not quite the reaction I had myself upon waking up in a hospital bed like this, but yes, sir. 'Oh.'"

"And is this state... Does... Do you..." the general frowned, failing to articulate his question.

Mustang let out an almost imperceptible sigh. "My subordinates should have already filed a report while I was... recuperating yesterday," he stated. "But as it stands, I am treating this state as permanent. We do not have enough of the transmutation circle to try to reconstruct or reverse it. Moreover, even if we could undo it, it would require another illegal human transmutation, which is obviously out of the question."

General Yeegar nodded. "I see. In a circumstance such as this, I imagine you'll need to send a copy of the report to the other four generals stationed here in Central, and of course the Fuhrer."

"Yes, sir. Of course."

The general rifled through his desk for a moment, pulling out a few blank forms and handing them to Mustang.

"You'll be needing these, I suppose. Keep me updated on this manhunt - I imagine you'll get quite a bit more vicious after this occurrence. I suppose it will only be a matter of time before you're filling the jail cell. Good luck, Major General."

Mustang saluted again, tucking the papers under his arm. "Thank you, sir. You'll be the first to know when I have more information."

Roy walked out, glancing at the forms the general had given him. Order forms for a change in uniform sizes. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

--

Mustang sat down at his desk with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. General Yeegar had reminded him of something unpleasant - a rather important detail that they had forgotten. They had all been so preoccupied with getting away with the Lab 4 lie, no one had stopped to think that they would actually be expected to catch this person.

It would almost be easier if it was an imaginary culprit. Unfortunately, someone actually _was _performing illegal human transmutations - Edward, whom they obviously could not arrest. But if they didn't catch anyone for this, his reputation would crash, and he'd be that much further away from his goals.

He couldn't afford not to arrest someone for this. He couldn't arrest the person who was responsible. He couldn't frame someone, because even if they found a scapegoat Ed would continue performing transmutations on people who needed them and someone would catch on that the real culprit was still out there - and Roy was in no position to ask him to stop saving lives.

It was a no-win situation that he needed to find a way out of. It was also more trouble than he could currently concentrate on; there were just too many other things he needed to do.

For now, all he could do was push the problem to the back of his mind and hope Ed didn't make himself too conspicuous.

--

That night, Roy got home, ate dinner and took a shower as usual. He shampooed his hair and washed his body, running soap over unfamiliar dips and curves. And, as the water showered over him and steam fogged up the nearby mirror, he fell to his knees and cried.

--

The newspaper had the story out by the next day. A bold headline announced "MAJOR GENERAL UNDERGOES SEX CHANGE: CRAZED ALCHEMIST TO BLAME" to the world, with two pictures of Mustang; his official driver's licence photo and a candid shot of him walking down a hallway in his new body, lined up side-by side underneath.

Havoc asked if he could frame the newspaper and hang it on the office wall. Roy's reaction to this was to set it on fire. Everyone but Havoc, who had still been holding the paper at the time, thought this was hilarious.

Sometime in between setting every newspaper in the office on fire and getting bored enough to start blowing up Havoc's cigarettes whenever he tried to smoke (an old favorite game for when Hawkeye had her back turned), the phone rang.

"I think I might have forgotten to tell you something."

Roy paused. "Did this something involve spontaneous human combustion? Because I really don't want to explode, Ed."

"You're not going to spontaneously combust (probably). No, did I remember to tell you that I need to see you twice a week for check-ups, or was that in my head?"

"In your head. Why twice a week?"

"Because I don't know the effects a sudden change in sex will result in. I want to monitor you, and especially your hormone levels, to make sure nothing goes... awry." A pause. Then, quickly, "Also-there's-a-slight-chance-of-cellular-breakdown-or-contamination-but-that's-terribly-unlikely-so-there's-no-need-to-worry so how about Wednesdays and Saturdays at three?"

"Wait, what? Cellular contamination? And breakdown- You're supposed to know what you're doing, Edward! What did I just say about exploding?!"

"It'll be FINE! None of my patients have ever experienced either, it's just a precautionary measure! And you're certainly not going to _explode_."

Mustang sighed. "Oh, whatever. 3:00 is no good on Wednesdays, how about one?"

"Fine. Tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah. And Edward?"

"What?"

"If I spontaneously combust, I'm going to haunt you so badly your ancestors will have nightmares."

"Noted."

--

On Wednesday, Roy, as usual, saw fit to simply let himself in to Ed's house. His presence was wholly ignored in favor of the telephone.

"And what did her doctor say? That far already? But she's only... So she's due within the month, huh? Shit. Well, I can't get over there right now, Al; I've got a lot of patients, and I just performed an operation that I need to monitor the effects of! Besides, I always go up there- why can't you two just come to me? Look, if it wasn't a matter of someone's health and well being, I would, but- Alphonse Elric, if you let another doctor deliver my nephew, I will shove that baby back in her vagina just so I can deliver it myself. You think I'm kidding? Oh for god's sake, she shouldn't be working in her condition anyway, and I'm sure they'll let you take a few weeks off for the birth of your first child! I'm not saying you have to hide the wrenches, but she still shouldn't be working with dangerous machinery while she's almost eight months pregnant! Besides, don't you wanna see everyone here in Central and show off your big pregnant wife? Al, we both already know you're going to end up coming here, why are we still arguing? I love making things difficult for you, too, but I've had a patient standing in the doorway for about five minutes now and I should probably actually do my job. Love you too, Al. Give Winry my love, and I'll see you in a week or two. I'm not making assumptions, I'm making extremely accurate predictions because I know you and I know Winry and I really and actually can not leave right now. Bye, Al."

Mustang blinked. "I don't mean to eavesdrop unless it will actually benefit me but... Why is she eight months pregnant if the wedding was only six months ago?"

Ed quirked an eyebrow. Roy rolled his eyes. "Okay, obviously I know _how_, but considering this is your brother of all people a shotgun wedding seems a little... unlikely."

Ed shrugged. "Can't argue with that, actually. We're pretty sure it was conceived the night Al proposed, so... yeah, you're not wrong."

Mustang nodded. "Anyway, I'm actually on my lunchbreak right now, so it would be nice if this checkup didn't take too long."

"Sure," Ed agreed, "I just need to check your vitals, then do some testing on a blood and saliva sample I'll need to take."

Forty-five minutes into Mustang's hour-long lunch, or alternately, about twenty minutes after Ed had wandered off to do the necessary testing, the doctor came back.

"Good news and bad news," he said. "You're not going to explode."

"That is good news."

"That was the bad news. It would have been fun to watch. The good news is that I get to further torment you, because your hormone levels are absolutely absurd and need to be dealt with."

"I'm overjoyed, Ed. Really."

He was rewarded with a grin. "I thought you might be. Anyway, your hormones still haven't adjusted to your new body, meaning your testosterone is too high, and your estrogen levels are too low. You might have already noticed the effects, like mood swings and hot flashes. You body will eventually even itself out, but I want to regulate things as quickly as possible."

Roy nodded. "Right. I understand. So, hormone supplements, then?"

Ed pulled a pad of prescription paper out of the top drawer of his desk, scribbling on it. "Yep. Just some basic estrogen pills, no big deal. Come back on Saturday and we'll see if they do any good," he said, handing over the note.

"Estrogen, huh?" Roy mused quietly. He didn't like the thought.

--


End file.
